


Tempus Fugit

by 30xf



Series: 201 Days Of X Files [89]
Category: The X-Files
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-06 19:40:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15202022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/30xf/pseuds/30xf





	Tempus Fugit

I bought Scully's birthday present at the airport in Florida last time we were there. She'd wandered off because she'd had enough of me, and I took the opportunity to browse the gift shop. As soon as I saw it, I got it. It cost less than five dollars, and I intended to get her something more, but I never found anything. When I asked the gift shop clerk if they had a box to put it in, he looked at me like I was crazy, but he found one under the counter I assume was meant to be used for some sort of jewelry. And so the present has sat in it's box in the top drawer of my desk at home since then, waiting for today. I'm slightly surprised I remembered to grab it before I left for work, but it's been in my coat pocket, hanging on the coat rack since seven thirty this morning. 

Some would say it's mean, but I haven't mentioned her birthday at all. It's kind of become a tradition with us. I never mention hers, though I do in fact remember it every year, and she buys me a card and lunch for mine. It's not fair, and I know I'm kind of an asshole, but I honestly believe Scully prefers it this way. Just about every year she only mentions her own birthday in passing, after it's already come and gone. And it's usually when she gets tired of her leftover birthday cake, and finally brings me in a piece. I always consider that our celebration--the usually cold, dark, snowy afternoon we huddle together in our basement office, eating her stale birthday cake for lunch. Then there's about a week after where we spend every lunch break walking the down town streets of Washington because her mother always makes a huge cake for her and insists she take the leftovers home, and she feels guilty if she doesn't eat it, and now she has tons of extra calories to work off. In short, it's a week-long celebration I enjoy. And at the risk of ruining it, I've gone and   
changed everything by getting her a gift.

And I'm poised to ruin it even more with the next thing I say to her. I've only been half paying attention to my work for most of the afternoon, concentrating instead on the possible options for dinner. There's a bar not far from work that we've come to frequent, mostly because it's close, but also because the food is decent. "You want to head to the Headless Woman for some dinner?" I ask. There it is--I've asked her out for a birthday dinner, without ever mentioning her birthday.

She seems to consider it for a moment, and I fear she's about to turn me down. Surely her mother has planned some sort of party for her and my spontaneous plans can't compete. "I can't help feeling there were better suggestions for a bar name along the way," is all she says at first.

I chew fiercely on my pencil, awaiting her response. "Huh, yeah...you'd think."

"Sure," she throws the file she'd been reading on the desk. "Why not?"

On the brief walk down the street, our hunger takes over any possible conversation and we use the time to discuss what we'll order. We decide on an order of nachos, admitting we'd both been craving them lately. Scully and I happen to be perfect nacho partners--she likes the veggies and the sour cream, and I like the cheese and meat. We shared a meal with a couple of other agents one day, and sparked weeks of speculation that we must be secretly married, based solely on how seamlessly our nacho preferences fit together. Not that it had been the first of those kinds of rumours. Or the last. And it certainly didn't deter our sharing of meals. 

When we arrive at the bar, Scully excuses herself to go to the bathroom--her nose had started running in the chill of our walk--and she no doubt wanted to make sure she wasn't on the verge of a nose bleed. I take it upon myself to choose a table, order our drinks--vodka and soda for me, gin and tonic for her--and place our nacho order as well. I ask for extra sour cream, knowing Scully particularly enjoys that part, but refrain from asking them to split the toppings for us. I'd made that mistake once, and it took an extra half hour to receive our meal, almost certainly out of spite. Since then, we just take time to pick and choose and dissect our nachos ourselves. Just as I see Scully heading back my way, I hurriedly ask our waiter to bring out a special birthday surprise for her when we've finished our meal. I know she'll kill me for it; but I also know she'll secretly love the attention. I just hope the thoughtfulness of her gift makes up for any temporary embarrassment of having the entire bar singing to her. Either way, I can only hope we still get our regular birthday celebration over stale cake in a few days.


End file.
